by Joe Buonfiglio
Listening. I admit it is a lost art form in our modern world. However, I resent any insinuation that I may have fallen prey to a malady within this component of interpersonal communication.
This week I had two contemptible charges levied against me that I consider unfair, unwarranted and unsubstantiated (and I’m not even a political candidate)! This person that I used to consider my friend claimed that I was not only prone to overreaction, but a “bad listener.”
An overreactive person? Moi?
What a steaming pile of horseshit! They can take their half-baked opinions and shove ’em up whatever orifice into which they LEAST fit. I’ve never overreacted to anything in my life. Mister Calm, Cool and Collected, that’s who I am.
As to the charge of being a bad listener, that’s just so erroneous as to almost be laughable. To contest this atrocious allegation, I’ll demonstrate the insidious nature of this cruel contention. So here’s something my science-centric son told me this morning that had me run out and tell my stockbroker to sell all my stock in Elon Musk’s SpaceX corporation.
And that reminds me; my financial advisor tried to tell me that I don’t own any stock in SpaceX, so I read her the riot act. But when she mouthed off with some bullshit about me not being able to own SpaceX stock, because the company isn’t publically traded yet, I fired her ass on the spot!
The balls on this woman.
Can you imagine the nerve of her trying to tell me what stock is and isn’t in my own portfolio? What kind of dumbass does she think I am? I watched CNBC business news while I was having my daily grilled cheese and a cold one for lunch today. I’m no financial illiterate.
Who needs her? I’m supposed to be all impressed by her Wharton advanced degrees and her decades of experience? Fuck that!
I’m better off handling my own investments. I’ll put my online animal-husbandry degree up against her hoity-toity MBA any day of the week. I’ll shove that framed piece of self-aggrandizing paper testament to her own ineptitude so far up her—
Where was I?
Oh yeah. Those fallacious assertions of overreacting and bad listening.
So, my someday astronautical-engineer progeny casually says to me that the core of Earth’s moon is mostly comprised of urine.
Holy shit! Can you believe that?!
What the hell was NASA all atwitter about in the Sixties and Seventies? It was bad enough when we thought the moon might yield some sort of bounty for we cheese lovers here on Gaia’s own terra firma; but why the space-race to reach what apparently can just as easily be obtained at a Port Authority Bus Terminal bathroom at three in the morning and without risking lives and going billions of dollars into debt to do it?
Well, at least without going into debt. It is the Port Authority Bus Terminal at three in the morning after all.
Anyway, I DON’T GET ALL THE HULLABALOO!
Apparently, our moon “boasts” a urine core deep inside of its interior, which is then surrounded by a softer, somewhat molten urine outer core that may extend as far out as 310 miles (500 km).
Sweet Jesus, that’s disgusting! And now we’re supposed to fork over billions more in taxpayer dollars to the NASA nerds so that these extravagant maniacs can go on a mission to Mars?
Why? Is there some sort of alien feces factory there we desperately need to tap into?
It’s not bad enough we go to the moon to plant the American flag in search of la luna’s rich urine stores, now we’re supposed to greenlight these idio—
What do you mean iron?
Don’t look at me like that! Maybe you all need to learn to enunciate better!
© 2016 Joseph P. Buonfiglio All Rights Reserved.